


Mastered

by vix_spes



Series: Lessons [4]
Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, First Time, Fondling, Friends to Lovers, Hannibal Extended Universe, Insecurity, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Pre-Canon, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: After all of Galahad's waiting and the misunderstands, his patience is going to be rewarded at last, as Tristan gives him his final lesson.





	Mastered

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, the final part of the Lessons 'verse ... thanks to the Rare Meat twitter for giving me a kick with their week of Tristhad promos!
> 
> If you haven't read the first three installments of this 'verse, I would suggest that you do so!

Their conversation – if it could be called a conversation when Galahad just shouted at Tristan – seemed to have done the trick. Tristan may not have announced their relationship to the rest of the knights, but neither was he actively trying to hide what was going on between them. Vanora definitely knew what was going on. Galahad had seen her pull Tristan aside one night and give him a stern talking to, one hand on her hip, the other wagging in his face, even going so far as to poke him in the chest to emphasise her words. Tristan wouldn’t elaborate on what she had said what Galahad asked, but Vanora had given him a kiss on the cheek and his favourite mead, so he knew that she approved.

Yet, Galahad was still waiting for his final lesson.

That didn’t mean that they weren’t having sex at all far from it. It seemed as though Tristan had set himself the personal challenge of seeing just how loud he could get Galahad to scream. Indeed, not two days ago, a well-into his cups Bors had loudly commented that, whoever Tristan’s mystery woman was, she was a screamer. Galahad had choked on his wine while Tristan, the bastard, had given an insufferably smug smile.

It was true. Galahad was a screamer, but he could hardly help it; it was all Tristan’s fault. The only time that Galahad was quiet was when he had Tristan’s cock down his throat and, even then, he wasn’t totally silent. He couldn’t help it. Just as he had imagined, Tristan could play Galahad’s body as easily and with as much skill as he played his bow he knew precisely where to touch Galahad to draw responses from him. Tristan knew that praising Galahad, calling him good boy or telling him well done had Galahad as hard as a rock in seconds. When he was feeling particularly cruel, Tristan would do it on a scouting mission, just to watch Galahad sat atop his horse, squirming in arousal. Tristan also knew that, as much as Galahad protested and tried to deny it, he loved it when Tristan punned him down and ate him out until Galahad’s hole was dripping wet and he was begging for release. Yet, despite all of this, Tristan never penetrated Galahad with anything more than his fingers.

He wanted to, there was no doubt about that. Any previous insecurities had vanished almost completely. Galahad was supremely confident that Tristan wanted to fuck him, he just didn’t understand why he wasn’t. all he would say when Galahad pressed him was that it would happen when the time was right. As far as Galahad was concerned, that minute was right now he was desperate for Tristan’s cock up his arse because, as skilled as those fingers were, they simply weren’t enough anymore.

And then there was an incident that affected the mental timeline he had about fucking Galahad, which had to be the final lesson he intended to give.

Ever since Tristan had mentioned that he wasn’t the only person in the garrison watching Galahad, he had become aware of those looks himself and he wasn’t comfortable with it. Their gazes didn’t make him feel like Tristan did. Tristan’s gaze may be lustful, but it made Galahad feel wanted, cherished. The other gazes made his skin crawl, made him feel like a piece of meat.

The incident happened in Vanora’s. there was a group of Roman soldiers who guarded the garrison in one corner, ostensibly playing dice but, in reality, making a series of comments that were growing lewder by the minute. They had clearly been drinking for a long time and didn’t seem to have any intentions of stopping. They’d been terrorising Vanora’s barmaids, to the point where Vanora was now serving them herself, with Bors and Dagonet looming threateningly. And then Galahad made the mistake of standing up and drawing their attention. He immediately became the focus of their comments and catcalls. What they would do to him if they had him in their beds. Or anywhere. Every single word out of their mouth was crude and lewd and had Galahad blushing. Of course, that then drew more utterances, mocking him with his ‘Galahad the Pure’ moniker. Strange how it hurt so much more coming from them than it did coming from his brother knights.

Their words drew the ire of Tristan and Galahad wasn’t remotely surprised when the archer materialised by his side. Not after what Tristan had admitted when Galahad had confronted him. Of course, the moment that Tristan appeared was the moment when the soldier nearest to him reached out and grabbed Galahad’s thigh. He yelped and spun around with a glare, only for the soldier now behind him to slide his hand underneath Galahad’s tunic and grope his arse. Before the soldier could even blink, Tristan’s knife was unsheathed and at his throat, a low growl rumbling in Tristan’s chest.

“Get your hands off him, before I remove them for you. With. My. Knife.”

The soldiers were clearly so drunk that they didn’t realise the danger that Tristan presented. Instead, they guffawed and acted rather blasé about the whole thing, making jokes. Galahad, on the other hand, was very much aware of the danger of not just a riled-up Tristan, but a possessive one as well. Contrary to what he may have expected, it didn't make him fell patronised or incapable. It made him feel safe. It made him feel wanted. 

And it made him turned-on. Seriously, he was amazed that his cock wasn’t tenting his tunic already. He willed himself to keep it under control; he didn’t want this idiot thinking that it was for him. And then, they spoke, and it pretty much killed his erection.

“Well, would you look at that. Galahad the Pure is such a woman that he can’t stand up for himself.”

Now Galahad was really riled. These men had seen him train. A few had even seen him fight. They all knew that he could more than hold his own. Maybe it was time to remind them of that.

“I can’t stand up for myself? Is that what you think? On the contrary, I simply don’t see the point in denying Tristan his fun. I’d hold your hands down while he removes them.”

Galahad’s words were accompanied by Tristan trailing his knife down the soldier’s chest to run across the joints where his fingers met the palm of his hand. Tristan didn’t hold back his sneer as the soldier immediately started stuttering and stammering an apology as they stood so quickly that they knocked the table over as they made a hasty exit. The normally rowdy bar space had fallen quiet during the encounter. Really, the soldiers were worse than the women when it came to gossip. Turning in a circle, pointing his dagger at everyone, Tristan spoke quietly but it carried in the silence, every word heard clearly.

"Galahad is mine. Just as I am his. Anyone who touches him without his consent will answer to me … if there's anything left of you by the time he has finished."

The only response was deafening silence. Galahad had felt that familiar rush of anger with Tristan's first words, only for it to subside as he continued talking. Yes, Tristan was possessive and protective - and probably always would be - but neither was he saying that Galahad couldn't take care of himself. Galahad couldn't ask for more than that. And then the silence was broken by Bors.

"Wait, are you saying that _Galahad_ is Tristan's mysterious screamer? Vanora! I'm going to need a lot more to drink to deal with this information."

Galahad's heart dropped into his stomach at Bors' words. Did they disapprove? Luckily, Dagonet spoke up to salvage the situation, translating Bors' words.

"I think what Bors was trying to say is that we don't have a problem with you and Tristan. It's just that, us especially," he gestured between himself and Bors, "think of you as a little brother and, well, we don't want to picture what Tristan is doing to you to make you scream like that."

And then Lancelot spoke up, a dangerously wicked grin on his face, "I think this calls for a toast. To Tristan and Galahad the not so pure."

Galahad threw back contents of his goblet and then, when Lancelot least expected it, struck. "Well, if you're interested and ask nicely, I'm sure Tristan would be able to give you some tips for how to please a lover."

His barb had precisely the reaction that he hoped for. Lancelot choked and spluttered, Bors and Gawain all but fell from their seats laughing while Dagonet actually cracked a smile. As for Tristan, well he slid an appreciative hand up Galahad's thigh.

Yet, frustratingly, even that incident didn't seem to inspire any sort of speed in Tristan. Nothing Galahad did could entice Tristan into fucking him and Galahad tried everything. Things had been quiet with the Woads recently and, given that two of Tristan's lessons had occurred out beyond the safety of the garrison, Galahad sincerely hoped that Tristan wasn't planning something similar. Call him a traditionalist, but he would quite like his first time to be in an actual bed and not with the risk of being caught by Woads in the middle of something. 

~*~

Despite the fact that everyone in the garrison was now aware of their relationship - except perhaps Arthur - that didn't mean that Tristan and Galahad were overly effusive or demonstrative in public with their affections. Galahad wasn't really sure how he would have dealt with it had Tristan started pulling Galahad onto his lap as Bors did with Vanora. They were perhaps softer with each other, hands and gazes lingering, allusions made to what they did behind doors and out in the wilds but that was the extent of it. Tristan had always been an intensely private man and, given how much the Sarmatian knights lived in each other's pockets, Galahad appreciated having something that was just theirs.

Nevertheless, some fingering, Tristan's tongue and mouth doing things to him that drove him crazy and Tristan's cock down Galahad's throat as often as possible were not enough. The insecurities that Galahad had thought put to rest were starting to rear their ugly head again. What if Tristan had changed his mind? What if he hadn't said anything because he didn't want to hurt Galahad? He thought that they had had this discussion about how things would be so much easier if Tristan opened his mouth and spoke. Seriously, did Galahad have to initiate everything that even vaguely dealt with emotions?

He had thought to confront Tristan in private, sequestered in one of their rooms where no-one could hear them but, in the end, he simply didn't have the patience. Instead, he seized an opportunity while Gawain was challenging some of the soldiers to knife throwing, Lancelot was flirting with someone's wife and Bors was pestering Vanora to sing, Dagonet looming behind as a faithful shadow.

"Do you have any intentions to bed me?" Had the bar been any quieter, Galahad's words would have been clearly audible, despite his attempts to whisper.

"What?" Tristan looked around before whispering furiously. "Of course, I do. Why would you doubt that?"

"Perhaps because it has been weeks now since you talked about a final lesson - which I presumed you meant bedding me - yet you haven't done anything about it. What other conclusion would I come to?"

Tristan muttered something but ducked his face so that his braids obscured his mouth and muffled what he was saying.

"What? I didn't understand. Just talk to me, Tristan."

"Vanora told me that I had to make it special, it being your first time and all." 

Was Tristan actually blushing? This was going down as a moment that Galahad wouldn't soon forget. But damn Vanora and her meddling. 

" _Vanora_ …" Galahad groaned, "how is making me wait going to make this special? Using a bed would be enough!"

"She was talking about romance and timing - a significant date - and all kinds of things, how you deserved better than the stables or a forest floor. Which I already knew."

"Tristan, since when have you bothered about what people think? I'm not a woman, I don’t need all of those things that Vanora mentioned."

Tristan's muttered 'I'm well aware of that' earned him a swat.

"Look, did you ever stop to think that maybe the things Vanora was telling you to do were the things that she wishes Bors would do? I don't need romance, Tristan. I need you and to know that you want me and for you to just get over yourself and bed me."

"Then it's a good job I wasn't going to make you wait past tonight then, isn't it?"

Galahad frowned. “Why tonight? What’s so special about tonight?”

Tristan reached out and grasped Galahad by the wrist. “Tonight marks a year since we officially finished our training and you picked that blasted tunic. A year since I realised that I was not the only person watching you with appreciation. A year since I acknowledged that I wanted you as more than just my brother knight. Six months since your first lesson. I thought that would meet Vanora’s criteria for something special.”

“Then…”

“Finish your wine, pup. And then we’re retiring to my rooms.”

“Finally.” 

(~*~)

“How many of your previous lessons do you remember, pup?”

Galahad bucked his hips as Tristan pressed him against the door of his rooms and fondled his cock through Galahad’s skirt. “Hnnngh, all of them.”

“Is that so?”

“How could I forget?”

“Nevertheless, allow me to remind you.” Tristan slotted his thigh between Galahad’s and slipped his hands beneath Galahad’s tunic to cup his arse, encouraging him to frot against Tristan’s muscular thigh.

Galahad moaned, tugging on Tristan’s braids to pull him into a passionate kiss, trying to convey everything that he was feeling; his desire and his frustration. Judging by the way that Tristan plundered Galahad’s mouth, he had no objections. Galahad whined as Tristan pulled back, wrestling Galahad’s tunic from his body and leaving him naked. It was intoxicating. During their last ‘lesson’ as Tristan referred to them, Galahad had been left naked while Tristan was fully clothed, but this was different. Back then, Galahad had been a little distracted by the potential danger posed by the Woads. Now, there was nothing to distract him. Nothing but the feeling of Tristan’s leathers against his bare skin and the scent of Tristan in his nostrils. Yet, to Galahad’s frustration, Tristan wouldn’t give him enough to reach orgasm. Before Galahad could, Tristan pulled back and jerked his head in the direction of the bed.

“Bed. Now.”

“What happened to romance?!” Galahad couldn’t help but joke, not that it garnered a response from Tristan.

Galahad couldn’t help but moan as he crawled onto Tristan’s bed and laid back against the sheets. He was completely and utterly surrounded by Tristan’s scent and it made his cock twitch. And that was even without the predatory look on Tristan’s face as he crawled onto the bed, hoisting Galahad’s legs over his shoulders with almost embarrassing ease.

As was his wont, Tristan didn’t bother wasting any time. He simply spread Galahad’s arse cheeks and dipped his head. The first time that he had done this, Tristan had told Galahad to not complain too much; that he would enjoy it far more than he thought he would. Infuriatingly, he had been right. Galahad enjoyed it far more than he had ever imagined, far more than he thought was proper.

As always, Galahad found his hands tangled in Tristan’s braids, tugging and pulling at them as Tristan’s tongue furled and delved within him, coaxing Galahad’s pleasure to spiral higher and higher. And then, Tristan slid first one and then a second oiled finger into Galahad, those bow and sword calloused fingers grazing over that magic spot inside Galahad that had him seeing stars. Yet, Tristan seemed set on tormenting Galahad. Normally, when Tristan did this, Galahad could come without a single touch to his cock. Yet, Tristan seemed determined to draw this out as long as possible. Any time that Galahad was reaching his peak, Tristan pulled back and stopped, meaning that Galahad was constantly almost reaching release but then be denied. Even so, he couldn’t find it in himself to be frustrated with Tristan.

And then, Tristan stopped his ministrations completely. Disregarding Galahad’s unhappy moan, Tristan moved away from the bed and removed all of his clothes. His erect cock jutted out proudly from between his thighs and Galahad couldn’t help but reach out, wrapping his hand around Tristan’s cock, wrapping his lips around it. Over the last few months, with considerable practice, could swallow most of it down his throat and he proceeded to do that now. He could hear the muttered words of praise falling from Tristan’s lips as a litany and he shuddered in delight. He also knew how much Tristan liked seeing Galahad’s lips stretched around his shaft, saliva dripping down his chin. All too soon, however, before he could taste that familiar bitter fluid spreading across his tongue, Tristan fisted his hand in Galahad’s curls and pulled him off.

“On your back.”

The words were a rasp and Galahad hastened to obey. Turning his head on the pillow, he could see Tristan using the vial of bow oil on his cock. This was it. Finally. The last lesson that he had been waiting for. The thing was, Galahad had been envisioning this for so long that there was no way that his dreams would live up to reality.

He arched up under Tristan as the older knight moved into bed and allowed himself to be manhandled into position. Despite everything, despite the previous three lessons, nothing had prepared Galahad for this. It exceeded everything that he had imagined. The feeling of Tristan’s cock sinking into him, spreading him wide around his shaft, was intense. Overwhelming. All Galahad could do was cling to Tristan’s broad shoulders and gasp until Tristan’s hips were pressed against Galahad’s upturned arse. If he had thought that was overwhelming though, it was nothing compared to the sensation when Tristan started to move. It was entirely possible that this was going to kill him but oh, what a glorious death it would be.

Galahad canted his hips, allowing Tristan to sink even deeper and let his body move on instinct. He couldn’t get enough of this. The feeling of Tristan moving deep within him was one that he didn’t want to stop experiencing and all he could do was wrap his limbs around Tristan and encourage him to move harder and deeper. Tristan’s cock could go even deeper than his fingers and it raked over that spot that had Galahad’s cock twitching. It was leaking pre-come continuously with every thrust of Tristan’s hips and it was not long before, having been kept on the edge for long enough, Galahad was falling over the edge into release. As for Tristan, he kept thrusting until Galahad was just teetering on that edge between pleasure and pain. Only then did he find release himself, filling Galahad with his seed.

Galahad lay there supine, as Tristan caught his breath and then withdrew, cleaning them both off with a cloth and water from a pitcher in the corner of the room, before returning to the bed and pulling Galahad into his arms.

“Well, teacher? What verdict would you give your student?”

Galahad moaned as Tristan rolled over and, blanketing him with his body, nipped at Galahad’s collarbone. “Mastered.”


End file.
